My Lawd, de King ub Manuel.”
I said, “Why don’t those canaries lay?”
“Miss Betsy say dey bof boys,” was his reply.
The cook liked him, and he liked her more than he did Cassey. He often toted for her baskets of chips to make the fire burn brightly, put on the big back logs, and turned the turkey in the tin kitchen. Twice a week on winter nights he was sent for to beat the hominy in the big mortar. When he grew weary of the iron pestle, and wanted to chaff some servant, he would say, “I sut’ny does lub ter beat dis hominy—a—heh—heh—heh,” and then we boys would “spell” him and he would praise our industry until we nearly collapsed from fatigue.
“O, call back yesterday; bid time return.”
He had a local reputation for his original sayings and deserved it. For example: “You kyant eat uh hoecake but once;” “All moufs mus’ eat, but all moufs kyant eat gravel;” “Ev’y man’s mouf ain’ uh prayer book;” “Uh case orntried is hyard ter justify;” etc., but from being chaffed by the young men at the “Royal Oak” and St. Michaels, towns near by, where he sold his crabs and fish, and bought fishhooks and tobacco, had become somewhat shy and reticent.
One cold and windy day in December I started for Wild Goose Marsh, famous as snipe ground, with the view of burning the same. So to fully enjoy Ezra’s confidence and to get him to talk freely, I put a half-dollar in his hand, invited him to stop shucking oysters and go with me to the marsh and assist in burning the same. His young Marster’s pointers, “Rob Roy” and “Rose,” whom he had adopted and who had adopted him, were lying in his boat. He expatiated a few moments upon the “quaresomeness ub snipe an’ jack-uh-ma-lanterns,” and then got in my carriage. Meantime I was taking in his raiment. He said, “I’m not dress up, kase I’m shuckin’ oysters.” He wore an old dressing gown some one had given him in the long ago. It must have had twenty patches from the size of a blacking box up to a tin plate. His vest, from patches, was of many colors; it was fastened with seven buttons, and no two of them alike. One foot was shod, and the other wrapped in an old piece of carpet. “Meh cawns hu’t me so,” he said. He was smaller and more bent than ever, and extremely interesting. A drink of applejack and a good lunch, the brilliancy of the burning marsh and my interest in him made him very loquacious. With apparent earnestness I said, “Uncle Ezra, how long have you lived on this estate?”
“Who, me! Bawn heah erboutin uh hunard year ago. I cum outin de Hollyday fambly. Ole Mars’ grabe is ober dar wha you see dem willows weepin’. Dar’s uh gre’t big slab ober de grabe, an’ on hit is uh passel ub A. B. C.’s an’ uh anker, wid stars an’ eagles an’ little grapevines all erroun’ ’em. Mars Pinckney say, ‘Dat’s what dey call in dem days de coat ub mail.’ His wuz uh gre’t fambly, an’ Mars Thormas wuz uh cap’n an’ fit an’ wuz kilt in de Resolutionary Wah.”
“Are you sure of that, Uncle Ezzy?”
“’Cose I is. I heah Phil Demby’s fadda say dat he holp ter put him in de amblabus when he wuz shot. He saw de British what shot him, an’ de ve’y bungshot dat hit him. Boss, what glorisome days dem wuz. I kin recommember ’em mehsef. Dese days ’pears ter me dey is spilin’ ev’ything by changin’. An’ hits ergin de Scripturs. Fuh instinct, when I wuz uh young man de Mefodis’ ’roun’ heah use ter hab what dey call meetin’ houses; dey use ter shout an’ moan, an’ moan an’ shout pow’ful. Dey cummence ter pray at fus’ sorf, an’ den deah voice got so strong toreckly you cud heah ’em uh mile orf. An’ de chunes wuz so fine, dey didn’ stop at de corners; dey jes’ swong ’roun’; dey cud turn deah voices same ez uh whirl-win’ an’ ter play de fiddle, dance, er hab uh melojin wuz cornsidered ornry an’ onricheous, an’ hit wuz, too. But in dese days ev’ything is changed in all de chuches, ’ceppin de Babtis’; de only change de Babtis’ made is ter babtize regular in fresh watah in Cap’n Tomlinson’s mill pon’, ’ceppin jes’ befo’ dey cut ice. You see dey had ter gib up salt watah, de shirks wuz so bad. Mo’n dat, de Bible don’ spressify salt watah. Den ergin Pawson Demby tuck de shirk fright an’ de consequasion wuz he hilt several pussons down too long. Tilly Mink got erligion an’ wuz thinkin’ boutin it so much (jes’ persidderin hit all de time) dat she fogot ter teck outin her dress some apples dat wuz swotuated in huh pocket. Well, Pawson Demby hilt her un’er so long dat she pawed de bottom; almos’ tore huh dress orf, an’ she mout erbin hilt un’er de watah tell she wuz drowned, but she got holt Pawson Demby’s legs, an’ fuh erwhile it ’peared like she wuz babtizin’ him. Brer Billy los’ his specks lars’ spring, so cudn’ see good, an’ when he seed de apples uh bobbin’ up, I s’pose he tho’t dey wuz sperrits, kase he sung out ter Pawson Demby, ‘Jes’ gib huh annubba dip, Pawson Demby, huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh in clustahs;’ but Pawson Demby lef’ well ernuff be well ernuff. Kase Tilly Mink nebba did hab much erligion, an’ when she seed dat distructed frock an’ dem kyart-house apples dat we all knew’d growed in Ole Mars’ archard, huh ’ligion lef’ huh jes’ ez fars ez she got it. Huh hyah riz on huh haid, an’ she talked jes’ scan’lous, an’ ’lowed she gwine ter jine de Presbyters. Well, hit may be fuh de bes’, but uh case orntried is hyard ter jestify.”